Chapter 15 #2
He meets my gaze with a smirk on his face and a tsk sounding from between his lips, never once looking away from me while the man struggles to get away from him and whatever Larkin has pressed to his face.
“Bad, silly girl,” Larkin chastises quietly.
“You were going to do something awful to this poor guy, weren’t you?
” He glances down finally, a sneer of disgust gracing his lips momentarily. “Do you even know his name?”
“Roger,” I snap, but I can’t help biting my lip and adding, “Robert? Umm. Richard?”
That makes Larkin roll his eyes, and he fixes me with another withering look. “You don’t even know his name. Don’t tell me you have a box cutter on your person you were going to off him with.” Finally, the man stops struggling, dropping like a stone in Larkin’s arms.
When I don’t immediately answer, my stalker snorts.
“How fucking pathetic. And worse? Predictable.” He hoists the man over his shoulder and turns, walking to the same car he’d thrown me into the trunk of almost a week ago.
This time, it’s the gross man’s turn to get bodily tossed inside, his form lolling about in his unconscious state.
Larkin turns to me, an expectant look on his face that makes me pause. My hand goes to the box cutter in my pocket, and I can’t help the way my skin prickles like just that look is a threat.
“Well?” He gestures toward his car.
“Well, what?”
His grin widens a little, and I know I’m not going to like what comes next. “Get in. You wanted this, remember? So let’s go.”
My eyes go to the man in the trunk, then back up at Larkin. Having no idea what’s going on, my brain is working a mile a minute trying to put together the pieces of whatever this is. “No. You can keep him. It’s repayment for Derek Prescott.”
Lakin’s snort is soft, and he rolls his eyes just a little at my words. “Get in before I make you, silly girl,” he murmurs in a silky soft voice that’s definitely not just a request.
Fuck.
I don’t know what to do, or what he wants. And I certainly don’t understand why he wants me to go with him, or what interest he could have in this stranger that I picked up in the bar to dispose of however I wanted.
But I do know I can’t outrun Larkin, and a quick glance around shows me that there’s no one out here to heed my screams if I attempted to get help. With the music so loud I can feel the bass in my bones even out here, I also know that no one from inside would come out if I yell.
“That’s right,” Larkin purrs. “You know how this is going to go, no matter how you play it.” He tips his chin to the side, and his eyes narrow slightly.
In the darkness, it’s hard to distinguish where he begins and where the shadows end, making him look ethereal and unnatural in the cold Seattle night.
“Fuck you,” I whisper. Part of me hopes he can’t hear it, but judging by the way his eyes narrow a bit more and his smirk grows, he definitely did.
“Careful,” Larkin cautions, even though he doesn’t seem too worried about whether I’ll listen or not.
He holds my gaze a second longer before I sigh, and I finally make the first move to cross the parking lot to him.
Stopping when he holds out his empty hand, I give him a quizzical look. “Box cutter.”
“No.”
“Box cutter…or chloroform.” His other hand comes up to dangle the rag in front of my face, goading and taunting at the same time.
While Larkin waits, patiently giving me time to decide what I want to do, I wonder if I would be fast enough to stab him or at least cut off a finger before he could get it from me.
Something in his expression makes me back down, though I hate admitting it.
A sigh leaves me, and I reach into my leggings pocket to hand over the brand new, fancy box cutter I obtained from the dollar store two days ago.
Larkin turns it over in his hand, barely glancing at it, before jamming it in his pocket.
“Good choice,” he praises. “Now get in.”
Somehow, I resist giving him another fuck you, and I turn toward the passenger side of the large, 4-door Challenger.
Only for Larkin to grab my wrist and tsk lightly.
“What?” I snap, whirling on him. “What could you possibly want now? I gave you my weapon. I’m getting in the car—”
“I didn’t say you get to sit with me.” The words ring in the air between us, and their meaning finally hits, making my eyes narrow.
“You’re joking.” My voice is a low murmur, but the disbelief remains clear. “You’re absolutely—” A yelp interrupts my words as Larkin lunges forward, effortlessly picking me up in his arms, like I weigh as much as a sack of potatoes.
“Not joking,” he sneers, using one foot to shove the mystery man’s body further into the trunk. “Not one bit.”
Before I can do anything except yowl my frustration, I’m dumped into the trunk as well, the hood slamming down quickly so I can’t do anything to get myself out.
“Don’t poke him too much,” Larkin advises, his voice muffled through the trunk. “You don’t want to wake him up before we get there.”
“Fuck you!” I snarl, yet again, and I hear him rap his knuckles against the trunk before he walks away, the driver’s door opening and closing a second later. The ignition comes on, and the jostle of him reversing out of the parking spot rolls poor Roger/Robert’s body toward me.
“Fuck off,” I hiss, even though he can’t hear me, and even after Larkin’s advice, I shove him as far away as I can in the dark. “This is your fault anyway, you loser.”
It’s not though, and I know that too well. It’s no one’s fault but mine, and my growing desire to see what kind of monster I am that got me into this mess at all.